Mismatched Forevers
by Morbid DramaQueen10
Summary: She was special because she was first person he wanted to spend forever with. The only problem is, their versions of "forever" didn't quite match up.


**I have totally forgotten up until this point to ad disclaimers to my last two Doctor Who pieces. So here goes: Doctor Who is not mine, in no way whatsoever. If it were, I assure you Chris, David, and Matt would be my personal slaves. For, you know. Personal reasons *cough*.**

**Anywho, this is my third Doctor Who, oneshot once more. I'm not sure if I'll ever write a multi-chapter. So far these haven't made any sort of splash. If you are interested, please review. There hasn't been much of a response to these, but I'd like to know how I'm doing.**

** This is based off of many things: How life is horridly unfair to our Doctor, the number of "Doctor travels back in time to see toddler Rose" ficts, how I think closure is for sissies, etc. We've always based these off the idea that Rose needs the Doctor (and she does, poor lass). In the end, she gets what she needs, but where does that leave him? Does he "need" her in the same way? He can't, can he? I mean, she's been replaced. Three times already! **

** I think he does. But he's use to people leaving. She's just another piece of the pattern-a special piece, nonetheless. I wish to the gods Billie Piper would return to the show, Amy would swan off and things would go back to (semi) first and second series normalacy. But no. So I'll settle for this. **

**And, without further ado:**

**Mismatched Forevers**

**Morbid DramaQueen10**

He knew the moment they met that they would not, in fact, have forever.

But that wasn't any sort of surprise. He had another 3 lives; she had one. He had others before her, and will probably gain others after. Each had been special, in their own right. Each valuable, wonderful people who gave a lot, scarified a lot. However, each left eventually—though not always by choice. Some found other causes, some wearied of travelling, others found different universes. A number had even died. They came and went. Soap bubbles. Here one moment, gone the next. He always takes the time to mourn. After a time, he learns accept the reality that he was meant to be alone.

She is different. So different, in so many ways. His first, too, in nearly a decade. Or perhaps it had only been a year. A month? Thirty-two years? Living in a time machine could muddle ones sense of time passing.

Whatever amount of time had passed, he was grateful for her. She is curious, innocent in her own way. Fierce. She will not let him, nor anyone, treat her like a side-kick. This girl is forceful and kind, and sweet as anything. The perfect person to travel with him after the war.

And what a war. The Doctor can recall the creature he had been after he…after he….

Rose heals him. She makes him a better man with her smiles, and the teasing. Her presence makes everything okay. She allows him to forget just what he had done to his people, to numerous other cultures. All the time alone had turned him into a bitter, sarcastic, dry man. Rose is just the cure.

The difference between her and the others is a relatively simple. Astonishingly so. It hasn't really occurred to him until after his tenth regeneration. Standing in the snow (_"Ash, actually."_), picking out the their next destination, he realizes it: He wants her to stay with him forever.

It is not in any way possible. She is human. He is a Time Lord. Their "forevers " did not match.

"_So, where we gonna go first?"  
_

He had been waiting for her to ask. _"Um. That way. No, hold on - that way."  
_

_"__That way?"_

_"Mmm?" _Is this alright with her?

Her smile is so sweet, excited. _"Yeah. That way."_

**XXXXXXX**

"You're too big to do that."

"Mmm?" He eyes the little girl, trying to comprehend what, exactly, she means by "too big."

She rolls her large brown eyes, the ones framed by thick lashes. He'd always thought their volume was achieved through excessive amounts of mascara. Well, he was clearly wrong. The idea pleases him. He is rarely wrong, and for once the results were not universe-threatening.

"You're too big for the swings."

"How do you know that? It isn't breaking, is it?" He gives the plastic-covered chain a generous yank to make his point.

Hands make their way to tiny hips and she pouts. The Doctor grins. "C'mon then. I don't bite." He pats the smooth strip of rubber beside him. It bounces from the force.

"M'not suppose to talk to strangers." She wants to, though, he can tell. Typical. As strange as he may appear, the child is draw to the odd man on the playground. He's funny-looking with his bow-tie and boots, floppy hair and thin, pale face. Mis-matched, in her mind.

"I'm not a stranger." He says vaguely. "Not really."

"W'da ya mean by that?" she demands. He talks funny, too.

The stranger slows to the progression of his swinging, tilting his head. "Sit down and we'll talk."

Hesitantly, she trots across to the swing set, woodchips flying in her wake. She climbs into a swing—not next to him, leaving one empty swing between. He doesn't remark, merely watches. Pink and white trainers move back and forth as she propels herself forward and back.

"One day we'll be great friends." He tells her, quite serious. "Then we won't be strangers."

"Why can't we be friends now?"

The Doctor mulls this over, or at least pretends to. "Because, that would be doing things out of order. We can be acquaintances for now, instead. That alright, mmmh?"

"Wot's acquaintances?"

His grin grows wider. "Like friends. More of a term for people you've just met that you're friendly with."

The girl bites her lip, still swinging. "Yeah." She says slowly. "Yeah, s'okay."

In a very formal manner, he holds out one long arm, hand flat. "Acquaintances, then….What is your name?"

"Rose," She supplies proudly. "Rose Tyler." Rose accepts his hand. They shake once, twice, and he releases her hand.

"What are you doing here, Rose Tyler?" He indicates the destination with a sweep of his hand—the park. "It is a tad late, eh?"

"I live over there." She pointed toward the general direction of Powell Estate, a dark form occasionally pricked by the outline of a lit window. "And my mum is working so…"

"Nobody ever told you it's dangerous to stay out alone at night?"

"Nobody sensible."

At this he laughs right out loud. It is a laugh that made Rose smile. This quiets him a bit, for it reminds him of better days. The way she bites on her tongue when smiling, how her big eyes sparkled and her cheeks grow flush.

"Now why do you say that? Surely someone sensible explained that basic concept to you?"

"If you don't go out at night, you can't see the stars." Rose explains, as if it the most simple, obvious thing in the world. Something to risk your life over. Of course she would hold such a philosophy, even at such a young age.

"You like the stars, Miss Tyler?"

Before she answers, she giggles over being called "_Miss Tyler." _"Yeah. Doesn't everyone?"

"Nearly." He agrees. "Some people don't." The Doctor lowers his voice. "But they're usually the stuffy ones."

Another peal of giggling. What an easily-pleased creature. He remembers why he likes children so much—they are good audience members and innocent like nothing else. He hasn't had much contact with them yet, in this regeneration.

"How old are you?" He asks abruptly.

"Eight." Rose says quickly. Too, too quickly. He raises one brow. She huffs slightly. "Six."

"Ha, really?"

Her only response is to stick her tiny pink tongue out indignantly.

"That's over half a decade. Quite old, isn't it?"

"How old are you?" She challenges, eyes wide.

He considers. "Older than you."

"By how much?" She can do math. If he would give her a number, Rose is certain she can figure it out.

"A lot." He says simply. Scowling, Rose drops the subject, instead choosing to focus on her swinging. For the next few minutes they sat in content silence as her legs thrust into the air, striving to push the swing higher, higher, higher…

"If you're not careful, you'll fly out right into the stars." The Doctor warns mildly, eyes rolling back and forth with her pendulum-like motion. The comment does nothing to slow her down.

"I wouldn't mind."

"Oh, you wouldn't, would you?"

"No. I'd like to see the stars." She looks down shyly. "You know. Up close."

"Then you ought to be an astronomer!" He declares, using one hand to sweep his mop-ish hair back.

"I—" Rose pauses. "But then I'd have to stay in one place. N' I like travelin'."

He nods solemnly. "I understand. I never like staying in one place for too long. Don't like to do the domestic thing."

Rose is not entirely sure what "the domestic thing" was, but she doesn't ask.

"And you would like to travel, one day, perhaps?"

"Maybe, yeah. But you have to have money to do that." Rose didn't have any funds herself. Mum and her two jobs were proof of this.

"Not always." The Doctor tells her. He's standing to ease into the empty swing separating them. Rose slows to a steady sway, watching the Time Lord intently.

"Whaddya mean?" Her eyes are curious, wide, and perfectly innocent.

He kicks off, sending chunks of dyed wood flying. Soon he's matched her pace. "Take me, for example. Haven't got a penny. Travel loads. All the time. Never a moment when I'm not traveling."

"But you've got no money!"

"That's right. But there is something I'ave got."

"What?"

The Doctor suddenly halts his swinging and spins several times in his seat before stopping to face her. She stops as well. He is very serious now, eyes twinkling. A long finger taps the end of her nose briskly.

"My mind." With that he releases the swing to spin. Rose giggles and follows his lead. Together they spin for what seems like hours, becoming perfectly dizzy in the process.

Anyone else would think he was being conceited. But he truly wasn't being an egotistical fool—his mind was the thing that allowed him to travel. Without his cunning he could not have stolen the TARDIS, couldn'tve saved his (and other's) skin as often as he had. Rose stared up at him in some form of awe. She didn't think he was full of himself. Not now, anyways.

"_Think you're so impressive, do you?"_

Yes. He did. And if she would always look at him like that, he knew he could always be impressive. She was worth being impressive for.

**XXXXXXXXXXXXX**

It is nearly eleven o'clock, far too late for someone her age. He needs to say good-bye. For…the last time.

The idea frightens him. He had been completely honest when he'd told her he was a coward. Always running, until forced to face the terrible silence. But he'd never run from her, even if she hurt. Even if Rose, beautiful Rose, scared him in ways he'd never imagine. The only running he ever wanted to do was toward her. Never away.

He does not want to leave her again. He wishes he could perhaps just stay here, suspended in time forever, with her. Or, grow into that tree, yes, that one there, and watch her grow into the Rose he will one day sweep away from this dreary place.

_Do you know like we were saying, about the earth revolving? It's like when you're a kid, the first time they tell you that the world is turning and you just can't quite believe it 'cause everything looks like it's standing still. I can feel it... the turn of the earth. The ground beneath our feet is spinning at a thousand miles an hour. The entire planet is hurtling around the sun at sixty seven thousand miles an hour. And I can feel it. We're falling through space, you and me, clinging to the skin of this tiny little world. And, if we let go... That's who I am. Now forget me, Rose Tyler. Go home._

He said that, here. The TARDIS was parked beside a tree. The day had been chilly, she had worn a zip-up jacket people her age referred to as "hoodies." Her eyes had been just as wide as they were now when she asked, _"Really, though, Doctor. Tell me. Who are you?"_

Wide eyes…well, not quite anymore. Rose's eyelids are obviously growing heavy.

"Rose."

"Mmm?"

"I have to go now."

"No, you don't." she protests. A warm, pleased feeling comes about him.

"Yeah, I do. And you ought to return home, Rose. It's too late for you to stay out here alone." He attempts to make his voice firm. Ah, no. It's amusing. He can frighten a warship of Maroiry battle-wolves, but when it comes to a tiny, blonde creature from London, he is completely putty in her hands.

"I…"

"C'mon, Rose."

Groaning, she stands. He follows suit. Rose stumbles away from the swings, her limbs heavy with want of sleep. The Doctor offers one slender hand. She accepts happily, and they're off toward the Estates. He speaks to her softly, telling her about the stars she so loved, pointing out the constellations. There are not many out this time of year. Besides, they are in a city, which makes the tiny balls of gas appear faded. She holds on to his every word, eyes following the pictures his long fingers traced in the sky. Rose is a great student, commenting on the stories and characters. Giggling at the funny bits and frowning at the sad.

It is over all too soon. They were suddenly standing in front of her apartment door, still hand-in-hand. He felt his throat grow dry as every second passed, but he didn't stop talking. They just stand there, before the door, as he finished his story about Orion.

And then the story ends and he was left with a few stuttering words. Rose looks up at him, concerned.

"You alright?"

He licks his lips. "Yeah, Rose, I'm fine. But I've got…got to go now."

"Oh." Her eyes drop to her hands. Then she looks up, offering brightly: "You could come in for some coco and biscuits. Mum isn't home yet. It's be okay, yeah?"

Rose's chocolate eyes shine brightly as she pulls him toward the door. He knows if he lets her, he will never leave be able.

"No…no, Rose." He says gently. "I need to go. You know."

This is the only explanation he can offer her. The Doctor knows it is not enough. It is never enough, in his mind. But Rose, his Rose could always accept his excuses, stony silences when she touched a sensitive subject. The younger version of her seem to understand, and merely nods. A huff of breath escapes her mouth in disappointment he longs to take away. She's just a kid.

He squeezes her hand tightly one last time, and lets go to stands back. Rose doesn't take her eye off him. A hesitant, tender hand goes out to touch her mussed hair. She closes her eyes and hums.

"Be good, Rose." He whispers, bending down to her level. "Stay safe. Listen to your mum."

She rolls her eyes at this. The Doctor laughs quietly.

"Just for now. When you're a bit more grown up, you can stop, eh? But Rose-" He needs to return to the TARDIS before Amy wakes. "Do what you want with your life. A-levels or no, you're a clever girl. Understand?"

"Yeah."

"Stay this kind and brilliant. You're off to a good start." He looks toward the horizon. "I've got to go, Rose."

Before he can stand, she's there. Hugging him tightly, her thin arms around his neck. For a moment, he's too stunned to return the squeeze. Then he has wrapped his long arms around the tiny girl, inhaling her warm, sweet scent.

"Bye-wot's your name?"

The Doctor barks out a choking laugh. Of course she would forget something so fundamental. "Don't really have one. You can call me…Doctor."

In a few days, Rose won't remember. She most likely won't even recall tomorrow morning. It is late, she'll probably think this last bit was part of some dream. So many things in human children's lives fade as they age. He'll just be a dream, never to be examined.

"Bye, Doctor."

He stands, straightening himself up. "Good-bye, Rose Tyler. Live a fantastic life for me, will you?"

She nods solemnly and lets herself into the two-bedroom apartment. He watches her until the door is completely closed, separating them for the next fourteen years of her life.

Walking back to the TARDIS, the Doctor is suddenly drawn to turn back.

Rose stands in her window, watching him serenely. She unmoving, tears silently streaming down her cheeks. And she doesn't quite know why.

In the moonlight, his hair is reflective, giving him a halo. He can't move as they stare at one another. The Doctor isn't crying. He won't cry. He has cried for Rose Tyler and is done with it. Nevertheless, he mourns her. Watching her cry, knowing that she can't understand why, his heart aches. Rose, Rose, Rose…his Rose. There is a nod of the head, and he turns to walk away into the future. Rose's hand trails down the window before she, too, turns to walk away to snuggle deeply into her pink duvet.

**XXXXXXXXXXX**

"Your girlfriend isn't worth more than the entire universe." He states in a matter-of-fact manner, giving Rory-the-gladiator (though he isn't really a gladiator, more like an officer) a pensive look.

"She is to me!" The fist swings back and is released in a heavy thrust, making full contact with the Doctor's face. He's down and out, briefly.

"_I could save the universe, and lose you."_

Some time ago, he would have hesitated. For a different person, of course. Rose or the universe. Rose, or this blue-and-green planet filled with witless apes. Rose, or himself. Yes, then he would have hesitated. She was worth the universe.

Did that mean Amy wasn't?

No…no. Amy was worth the universe, just to someone else. Rory. Poor, poor Rory.

If he could've given her immortality, in an instant he would. Or, better yet, take his own away with the comfort of knowing they could live at the same pace. However, the cosmos does not hold any fountain of youth (or fountain of removing youth), so they'd had to settle for her short forever. Which hadn't lasted very long at all.

**XXXXXXXXX**

There, in the darkness, he can't help but watch her. After all, he has never needed much sleep. She believes otherwise, seeing as he'll follow her to bed each night. But it's not the hours of REMs he craves, but rather the moments where her face is unguarded, her breath regular and deep. The Doctor wouldn't exactly call it beautiful… though she is, undoubtedly. He would describe the scene as…serene.

Pale light streams in from a make-shift window. There are no real windows on the TARDIS. The moment he discovered she loved sleeping with the stars watching her, he had constructed something close, something similar. It was more like a twenty-four hour TV screen in the shape of a window. Much like those silly DV Ds he'd seen in shops, the ones that had ocean scenes or pictures of a crackling fire, and nothing else. The Doctor thought it was fairly ridiculous. Yet Rose had been thrilled, letting out an undistinguishable noise that could've been a "thank you" or a "I'm going to eat you." To this day he still wasn't sure, because after said squeal, Rose pulled him in for a good, long snog.

His stupid ape was fiery creature. But so easily pleased. All she had wanted was a window in her room (now their room, he supposed) and to stay with him forever.

Rose shifts in her sleep, letting out a moaning sigh. She turns to cuddle closer to him, tugging the duvet closer. The Doctor didn't mind—his body regulated its temperature. Rose always seemed to know things like this.

Pausing from his vigil, the Doctor looks about their room. He hasn't shared living quarters with anyone in a long time. It's quite odd. There is a furious mix of their personalities throughout the space—sage green walls with dark furniture, plush armchairs and pillows. Magazines piled on the floor by her side of the bed, books on quantum physics, black hole theories, time theories…. A rack of ties in the closet, her muddied trainers beside his spiffy Converse. Her favourite blue leather jacket is slung across an armchair he thinks was probably in his previous room (which he can barely remember now). A photo of a younger Jackie, Pete, and a much younger Rose rests on the dresser. All in all, it is a very lived-in place. Not that he minds it.

A thought suddenly burns through his mind, leaving white hot pain. He gasps, clutches on to his bedmate and breathes. Gods, what was that?

_She's standing on a gray, dreary beach. Tears are pouring down her round cheeks. His mind is frozen, frozen in fear. Rose is speaking. _

"_I…I love you."_

_He holds his breath. They'd never said it before, not in words. Only in so many actions. All that running. Every time he said "Run!" she could hear it. But today was the day to say it. Say the words._

"_Quite right, too." There is a pause. Their time is short. He's destroying an entire star just to say these words, they need to be said _right._ "And I suppose…if this is my last chance to say it…Rose Tyler—"_

_Their transmission is cut short and he's left in complete agony. _

In the present, he withers in mental pain. Three words, three damn words!

"Mmm."

And he's pulled out.

He stares at the creature in his arms, the Bad Wolf. The one who creates herself. She's pulled herself closer, mumbling. Perfectly content, unknowing of his prophecy. Rose isn't the slightest concerned with anything but her sleep and apparently snuggling closer to him. Clever girl. Because, what else was there in this life? Yes, his girl had it right. The simple thing mattered more than the bigger bits in between—the saving the world, the running, the near-death experience on a daily basis.

So he gave her what she wanted: himself. The Doctor eases closer, letting Rose get as close as possible. The girl emits another moaning sound, a happier one. Precious girl.

The vision had just been possibility; uncertain. He isn't sure what measures he can take to ensure it will never occur. But the knowing that it is just a fork in the path of time gives him some comfort. There is a chance they could stay together. Besides, their lives are riddled with inconsistent risks. She could very well be gone tomorrow. It is nothing to lose sleep (or Rose watching) time over.

They could still have their mismatched forevers. It is still an option. He doesn't have to put his feelings into words—yet.

**XXXXXXX**

"Doctor?"

"Hmm?" He half-turns from his position—standing beside the beech tree, arms cross and legs apart, looking out over the estates. A stance she often saw him in, during his ninth regeneration. No, not Amy. The other s_he. _

They hadn't left yet. Amy had probably just woken up to find him gone and popped her head out of the TARDIS to see where they had landed today. It is still night, a warm and humid one at that.

"Are we…?"

"What?" He's shifted fully to face. "Oh, no, no. Just a quick stop."

"Okay." Amy moves to close the door, but stops about an inch from being shut. "You alright?"

The Doctor rubs his temple as he turns back to face the rows of concrete brick building again. "Of course."

"Okay." She repeats, shutting the door quietly.

"Amelia Pond," He says suddenly. The door opens again, revealing a confused Amy.

"Yes, Doctor?"

He emits a small sigh. "A fairy tale princess name."

She waits. Surely there had to be something important to be said.

"You know, Amy, what the real irony of time is?"

"No?"

The Doctor leans heavily on the beech, stuffing thin hands into the pockets of his trousers in a melancholy manner. She can just see a profile, but there is 900 years written across the seemingly young face. Downturned lips, sunken eyes, chin lowered in defeat. Amy has a feeling that this is how he would appear all the time if it weren't for his pride. His need to come off as fearless. Retain some odd form of childish dignity. Or maybe he really looks like this all the time. She just hasn't been looking hard enough.

"It isn't linear. Time doesn't go in a straight line. It doesn't even travel in a circle. Everyone assumes that time is a strict progression of cause to effect, but looking at it from a non-linear, non-subjective viewpoint – a viewpoint you ought always use-it's more like a big ball of wibbly wobbly... time-y wimey... stuff."

She waits from him to finish, because this obviously has to lead to something profound. Meaningful. Well, maybe not meaningful for her….the frustration in his tone meant something.

"The irony is…the irony is that today we could be in 1994 and tomorrow Pearl Harbor could be occurring. Things don't happen in a line. So, there could be five different me, zooming around the universe out there. All at the same time."

Amy doesn't quite get the concept, but nods silently. He turns back to her, sad smile in his eyes. "And that's the irony of it." He finishes, effectively dismissing his young companion. Amy closes the door once more, pressing her back to it and sliding down the floor. She isn't entirely sure what just happened, but she thinks perhaps it has something to do with where they are. The TARDIS consol screen keeps flickering something in that weird language the Doctor can read. He told her once that is was a warning, telling him he's crossing a timeline he ought not be in. Whatever he's risking this little trip for, Amy isn't sure she wants to know.

Outside, the Doctor heaves another sigh. Amy most likely didn't understand his mad spiel. But that wasn't the point. He just needed to say it. Get it out there.

Right now, somewhere in the constant stream of time—both real timelines and possible ones—a Doctor and a Rose Tyler are out there, travelling to places the shop girl from Powell Estates could've never dreamed of, not without the help of a Doctor. They're having adventures; they're running for their lives and loving every second of it.

It should be enough. But it isn't.

The Doctor knows mourning over something that happened years (_"Or is it decades now?")_ is not fair to Amy or his TARDIS. So he shuts those feelings of loss up in a box. He closes the box. Tucks it away, to the corner of his mind that is rarely examined. And he saves it, for moments like these. When he can be caught in unawares and nobody be hurt because of the lost moments. Rose would have rather it have been this way.

"_What are you doing, you silly cod? Cryin', over me? That's just silly, iddinit? You don't need me, no. If anything, I need you."_

"But I needed you too. Never said it, but I did."

"_No. Ya didn't." _She smiles, tongue between her teeth. _"You can do better than me."_

"Never."

"_Yeah, you can. But listen," _She leans in close, lips brushing his ear. _"I'm happy now, thanks to you. If fair is fair, than you should be too, yeah? I know you can go on without me—you survived a long time before you had Rose Tyler. So do it again. Live, Doctor."_

His mind is playing with him. It's alright, though. Because seeing her, even like this, is…fantastic.

Later, he'll return to the TARDIS (because he's the Doctor). He'll tell Amy he's fine, ask her to put on some tea, and take them to Siccorn or Velaxxia or maybe 1984 Earth. They'll laugh, run for their lives, have tea at 4 (basically all the time—it's always 4 somewhere in the universe), repair the TARDIS and _live_. Eventually, Amy will leave him (just like the rest) and somebody new will come along. The cycle will repeat—"It's bigger on the inside than the outside." And "First left, second right, third on the left, go straight ahead, under the stairs, past the bins, fifth door on your left."—and then that one will leave him too until one day…he's the one who will "leave" (probably in some tremendous way—explosion or gun fire, he hopes).

She has been the only one he would ever wanted to spend forever with. They could've had forever too, but their versions of forever just…didn't quite match up.

**Okay, I ought to focus on Red Sky and WTVC now, I know. But these plots keep crawling into my mind, refusing to leave me in peace….so, here I am! **

**Wooot!**

**Please, please, please throw a few reviews my way! I would really love to know how I'm doing portraying this complex character. So please. **

**With your review, please tell me what brought you into fan fiction. And if you're interested, a friend of mine has created a FF forum based on the process, the pros and cons, things that annoy us (Mary Sues, lack of reviews, how the site functions, etc.) It's a great site, at .net****Check it out if you get the chance, you'll find a lot of friendly people, discussions, and ideas on there!**

**Btw, I have another two—"Find You Among The Stars" and "All That Will Ever Be." And a blog. And a DA. So look me up!**

**~Dania **


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